


Jay2Noir's Evil Author Day 2020

by Jay2Noir



Series: Evil Author Days [1]
Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Burn This AU, Documentary style, Evil Author Day, Exhibitionism, F/M, Flashing, Porn, Public Nudity, Stalker Ben Solo, Stalker Kylo Ren, Stalking, annie au, burn this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-22 15:41:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22718347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jay2Noir/pseuds/Jay2Noir
Summary: Snippets of what I've been working on for the last few months or so. 100 percent made up of WIPS.Content warnings and tags will be listed at the beginning of the works.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Original Female Character(s), Kylo Ren/Reader, Kylo Ren/You
Series: Evil Author Days [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2161965
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	1. Scent Documentary

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!  
> I first heard of this in the AO3 Facebook group, and I thought it was awesome. I'm also doing it a day early because I'm going to be busy tomorrow.  
> The way this works is I post snippets of WIPs (Works in Progress) to show you what I've been working on, and maybe you will give me some feedback on what I should dedicate most of my time to. There is no guarantee that any or all of these works will be worked on after today. That's why it's called Evil Author Day lol! Appropriate Archive warnings and content warnings will be posted at the beginning of each chapter, as well as a small summary of the work. It also won't have any heavy editing, meaning there could be significant changes to the storytelling elements and there's bound to be some errors. All that aside, I thought this would just be a lot of fun. Hope it's enjoyable!  
> \----  
> Title: Scent Documentary  
> Warnings: Noncon, mental illness, psychologists, and medication.
> 
> This is the entire first chapter I've written up of a sequel of sorts to my most popular work of 2019, Scent. It's not really a sequel, more of a retelling in a different style. It's set like a documentary and goes through a lot of the other character's experiences around the things that took place in Scent. It's what I've been dedicating the majority of my time to as of recent.

She sits on the plush white couch, crossing and uncrossing her legs, fidgeting with the hem of her skirt, combing her fingers through her hair. The interviewer can tell she’s nervous, and once again she has to assure her of the broadcast’s expectations of her. 

“Remember, only go into as much detail as you want. You don’t have to speak about things if you don’t want to. We don’t want you to be uncomfortable.” The woman smiles at the interviewer, once again thanks her for her understanding with a confident nod. This interviewer is the second one she requested. The first was a man that had an uncanny resemblance to Benjamin Solo, her captor. His presence alone made her eyes well with tears, and she barely had to say anything before they removed him and ushered in a tall, blonde woman. The woman made it clear to everyone during pre interviews and paperwork signing that she wanted to do this. She wanted to tell her story so many years after her captor’s sentencing to the mental institution, and even though it would be the hardest thing she’s had to do since face those 20 days with a maniac who believed she was in love with him, she wanted to be strong. Not just for herself, but for the countless other women that may find or have found themselves in her same position. There was hope for her, and there would be hope for them too. Six years after Ben’s sentencing she was coming forward to tell her side of the story, and this would likely be the one and only time she’d be strong enough to do it.

The interviewer watches her closely as her face turns white when the camera crew begins to rush around in front of her. A makeup artist touches up the interviewer's face, but not hers. She’s refused makeup for the last several years, and couldn’t even leave her parent’s house without panicking until the three year mark. Anything that reminded of her short prison sentence became a threat to her: Pizza, dahlias, men with thick black hair. She would be thrown into a frenzy of tears and fear, and it didn’t let up until after she had gone through a rigorous course of therapy and medication. Even to this day, men that look like him make her nervous. She was sure she’d recover one day, but that day was not today and that was certainly okay. She casts her eyes downward at her grey slip on shoes as the man with the clapperboard steps in front of the camera that’s pointed right at her. She’s uneasy, but knows she can be strong enough to do this. Her story and her voice mattered, and she wanted to be heard.

The interviewer reads off her script, introducing the gist of the story to the camera that is pointing toward her.

“Imagine being held captive in your own home,” She begins, but she disassociates, hearing just enough to know when she was supposed to look at her and smile. “Imagine having the most unimaginable things done to you and your property. Imagine having your hand forced in marriage and being powerless to stop it. It sounds like a horror movie out of the depths of most twisted parts of our minds, but for one woman, that became her reality. Tonight, she gives her side of her harrowing tale, including how she survived and how she escaped the hell that she was forced to go through, and hear from some people who were close enough to save her, yet felt silenced by her captor as well. All that, and more, on tonight’s episode. Stay tuned.” The interviewer smiles and from the camera crew someone shouts “cut.” She was told that the interview wouldn’t take long, and they wouldn’t be reshooting scenes unless it was absolutely necessary. Once again she shifts uncomfortably as preparations are made to start her portion of the interview. She reminds herself that she didn’t have to go into detail about anything if she didn’t want to, and that she was free to leave if it got too difficult. But she was strong. She survived her own personal hell in her own home for twenty days. Surely she could survive this as well.

Some more time passes, more make up is applied to the interviewer and soon the clapperboard is placed in front of the camera again. It was her turn, it was time to tell her story. She sits herself up as confidently as she can, prepares herself to begin her story. The camera start rolling and the interview smiles up at her. 

“So, “ She says to her, smiling pleasantly and putting her at ease just a bit. “Why don’t you start by telling us a little bit about your life before this tragic incident occurred?” She takes in a deep breath and closes her eyes, whispering the word ‘okay’ to herself. Her life before Ben Solo forced his way into it was almost perfect. It hurt her to think about it, but she knows it’s the least painful part of the interview. She looks into the interviewer’s eyes and smiles, the image of her deceased husband in the forefront of her mind. This was her time to shine, and putting it off any longer would not help anyone. She proudly introduces herself by name and then goes into her life story, imagining her husband sitting there next to her holding his arm around her to give her strength.

“I was born in Washington and lived there my entire life. I met my husband in college at Seattle University. We were both law students, both graduated with bachelor degrees and both wanted to be lawyers. He asked me to marry him the day of our graduation, and I couldn’t say no. We moved in with each other shortly after, and both managed to get really well paying jobs as lawyers for two different firms.”

Photos pass over the screen showcasing the woman’s marriage, photos of her and her husband in front of their new house and on extravagant vacations. Through just the photos alone it’s clear that the two loved each other so very much. 

“Eventually Shane decided that he was tired of working for other people, and he wanted to start his own law firm. So we started one. At first I was a practicing lawyer as well, but eventually I stepped down to just a secretary because it was less work. You know? He was making enough money for the both of us. I just thought it was the best move for me. 

“Everyone in all of Seattle knew and loved Shane. He was the top practicing Lawyer in our city, and he did everything. Business law, family law, property, all of that stuff. He had a lot of clients and everyone recommended him when they were asked about lawyers. I was so proud of him. He was living his dreams and it was just the best thing that happened to us. We decided that we were ready to start thinking about children, and in my overexcitement I let it slip to a coworker that we were going to be trying for a baby soon. Everyone was so excited for us. They gave us gifts and it made both of us so happy.

“We never got to live out our dream of having a family. Because in mid October of the same year, my husband Shane was killed in a car crash.”

Her lower lip trembles and she looks down into her lap. She takes in yet another deep breath and seems to suddenly remember that there was a box of tissues on the table next to her. She apologizes to the interviewer as she takes a moment to wipe her eyes, and she can only stare at the ground as she wonders what to say next. What was there to say? The love of her life was so brutally ripped from her arms and was replaced by a maniac three years later. She missed him. She felt so empty without him. She made her feel safe, and without him she became a victim to one of the most heinous crimes the world had ever seen. 

“It shook me to my core. My world came crashing down around me and I just, I didn’t know what to do. I went from being with the only man I was sure I’d ever be able to love to being alone once again. I remember, I just crashed. I didn’t leave my bed for days and I just lived in a world full of uncertainty. I didn’t think it was real until I saw his casket lowered into the ground, and I didn’t leave his graveside for hours till the sun went down.

“It took me months to return back to work. I tried to take over as a lawyer for Shane’s firm, but found it was far too stressful. I have no idea how he did it and did it with a smile on his face most of the time. He had so many cases, so many people to work with, it was so overwhelming. I ended up hiring a new set of lawyers for the firm and keeping my role as a secretary. Eventually I got myself into therapy and worked through my grief and got to a point where I could function. Finances were good, work was good, and I thought I was in a spot where I could take care of myself.

“Years went by. I had my family and my friends to take care of me. I felt like I had returned to a somewhat normal state. Work needed to hire a new janitor so we put up a job posting and got lots of apps in. Our HR team was taking care of them one at a time, but the morning of one interview our main HR lady was out. She sent me an email asking me if I could interview the applicant, and I said sure. I mean, what other choice did I have? So I waited, and at 11 AM on the nose, I met Ben Solo for the first time.”

The camera rolls in front of Leia Organa, and she sits there on the couch looking as nervous as ever. During pre interviews it was made clear to everyone that Leia deeply loves her son, and is completely struck down by grief when reminded about what he had done to the innocent woman that he targeted. She doesn’t make excuses for what he’s done, and she doesn’t think he’s completely guilty or innocent. She’s here to tell her side of the story and what she experienced during this tragic point in her life, and she just wishes things could have been different.

“Ben was our rainbow baby.” She smiles fondly at the interviewer. “His father and I tried at least two different times before we finally gave birth to him. He was our miracle baby, and we treasured him more than anything in our lives.”

Images of Leia holding a newborn Benjamin solo in her arms on the birthing table flash across the screen. Images of Han cradling the newborn boy in his arms and crying tears of joy are shown, painting the two as loving and caring parents. 

“We wanted to give him the world, and we tried our hardest to anyway. He grew up just like any other kid did I would think. His father and I doted on him as much as we could. We went on vacations to Disneyland, I showed up to every parent-teacher meeting I could and would chaperone his field trips whenever he asked. He was such a happy boy until he was about four or five years old.”

An image of Han teaching toddler Ben how to walk fades in, showcasing Ben is just a cloth diaper and a mop of black hair that hung down in front of his eyes. The picture fades into another one of the boy with two blue and red birthday party hats stuck to his head, his tongue sticking out and his eyes open wide, playfully looking at the camera. His shirt is red with a sticker from Chuckie Cheese that states  _ Ben, turning five!  _ And is accompanied by a dollop of dark blue frosting that was sticking to his shirt. In the background a man speaks, sounding tired and partly uninterested:

“Leia called me in tears one day while I was at work, telling me Ben had a melt down in the grocery store that afternoon and she didn’t know what to do.”

The video fades in on Han Solo, Ben’s father looking stressfully into his lap. He, just like Leia, loves his son and was devastated when he got the news of Ben’s arrest. 

“She said, ‘he thinks someone is trying to kill us, and he started screaming and crying. I had to carry him out of the store.’ And I said, well, is he okay now? And she said ‘yeah, but I’m not.’ She told me I had to be there, that it was the worst she had seen since he was a toddler and that she was just, at a loss. I got home that evening and asked him what happened at the grocery store, and Ben seemed to be embarrassed about it. The only thing he would tell me is that someone was following him and his mother around and was going to kill him. 

“You know I regret it now, but it sounded silly to me, like he was making it up for attention or something. I told Leia not to worry about it. He was just a kid and kids did these things every once and a while. She just kinda looked at me and nodded her head. I could tell she was worried about him, but I just thought there wasn’t much of anything to worry about.”

A photo of Han pushing a young, smiling Ben on a tire swing on a lake front fades in before fading back to Leia and her interview.

“It happened again one evening a few months later. I took Ben to the playground so he could run off some energy before dinner. He seemed to be having a good time until he came running up to me in tears, telling me that a little girl had been following him and wanted to steal one of his light up shoes. He was so crushed by the thought of this other kid taking his shoes, and I wasn’t even thinking about the incident at the grocery store at the time. So I took him by the hand and asked me to show him the girl he was talking about. He was hesitant, shook his head and told me he was too scared, and I told him I’d take care of it. 

“So he took me by the hand and led me to the playground for younger kids of all places, and points to a little girl at the top of the structure. She couldn’t have been more than a year old, spinning the little steering wheel with the sand in it around. She even had a pacifier in her mouth, and I was just so confused. I said ‘Ben, what color shirt is she wearing?’ and he told me it was blue. Sure enough the only little girl with a blue shirt was that baby, and I just didn’t know what to think. Ben pulled on my arm and begged to go back home. He was petrified, and I just knew that something was wrong. Something was wrong with my baby. It wasn’t normal to think such things, and I had to get him help.

“I did what I thought I was supposed to do. I made an appointment with a child psychologist. They told us that Ben had a little bit of anxiety. They also diagnosed him with night terrors and a phobia of crowds. They told us just to work with him, that they would want to see him pretty regularly and treat him for what he has now. There was medication, and he took it just fine. They said keep him out of crowded areas and that the symptoms should lighten as he grew up. It seemed reasonable to me, and I trusted his doctor. 

“Things did seem to improve as he got older. He got a little more social and learned how to control his fears. He would tell me, ‘mommy, I’m getting afraid but I know there’s nothing to be afraid of.’ And I’d hold him, and I’d tell him I loved him and that I was there for him. Everything did seem to be fine, and then him and his father decided that it would be best for our family if we got a divorce.” 

A photo of Ben as a middle schooler being hugged by his mother with a huge smile on his face fades in. His eyes are shut and he looks to be extremely happy to be in her arms. The interview turns back to Han right after.

“Leia and I had some…” He goes quiet, once again unable to look at the interviewer. “... _ disagreements,  _ about some things. You know? It was a tough decision on us. Ben was doing so well in school. By then I think he was in high school. He had a few friends he would bring over every once and a while, and around that time he even had a girlfriend. Things were going so well for him, and we thought it would be a good time to break the news.

“I remember we sat him down at the table. Leia wanted to ease it onto him and I told her that Ben was grown. He was a man, he could take it. So I just came out and said it. ‘Son, your parents are getting a divorce.’ And I remember his face went pale and Leia gasped. He didn’t say anything or do anything, really. So Leia went into more of an explanation of what it meant and what was happening. Ben’s eyes kinda glassed over, and he looked from his mother to me. The only thing he said was ‘okay,’ and then he looked at me and asked if he was going to have to choose where he was going to live. And that was it. That was his reaction.”

A photo of a teenaged Ben looking into the camera playing a guitar fades into the screen. The picture is washed out, making Ben appear lighter than he was and highlighting the color of his eyes. He carries a neutral look about his face, but the ghastliness of it, paired with what the audience already knows Ben did, puts them on edge.

“A few months later,” Han continues with a heavy sigh. “We did the normal divorce stuff. Lawyers, paperwork, what have you. Leia decided to move back to Shelton while I stayed in our home in Seattle. Ben decided he didn’t want to leave school so he stayed with me. We struggled a lot. As soon as Ben was 16 I told him he had to get a job. His first one was at the pizza place as a server, and he kept that job all throughout highschool. Eventually we had to move, a little bit further outside of the city. I bought us a house that I thought we could afford, and to keep Ben happy I drove him to school everyday and picked him up. It was tight, but it was alright. Leia came down once a week to visit him, and every so often Ben would spend the night at her house and I’d go to pick him up. I just thought everything was fine, you know?

“I met a woman at my new job around the time Ben was graduating. We entered a relationship. I felt it was a good stepping stone after the divorce, and Ben seemed like he was happy for me. I didn’t know she was an alcoholic before we all decided that she and her daughter, Rey, would move in with us. 

“Ben couldn’t stand her, especially her alcoholism. She would be so mean to him when she was drunk, and when I gave her the ultimatum of giving up the alcohol or moving out she almost seemed to target Ben even harder when she was sober. I told her multiple times that her behavior was unacceptable, and that Ben deserved to be here as much as she did, and it would lighten up for a few weeks until I’d hear her talking about Ben being lazy to Rey. It was just such a drag. I wanted to be there for my son, but I wanted to be there for her too. I loved both of them, I just didn’t know how I could get them to get along with each other.”

“Eventually Ben became so reclusive. He’d spend all day and night in his bedroom doing god knows what. We’d yell at him that dinner was ready and he’d slink out after everyone else had sat down at the dinner table to eat. We’d invite him to eat with us but he’d just run back to his room. I would try to talk to him, to get him to come out of his shell but he hardly would ever talk to me. He’d go to work, and he’d come home. That’s it. He never wanted to interact with me or his step mother and sister. I worried about him, you know? I’d ask if he was okay, and he’d just kinda mumble. I was beginning to feel like he didn’t want to be there with us. By then he was already 26 years old, and I thought he was just yearning to be on his own. I told him he didn’t have to stick around for me, or for his mother’s sake. He didn’t really have an answer for me, but I still tried to make it clear that whatever he decided to do it was okay with me.”

At this point, Han starts to shift uncomfortably in his seat. He sniffs, obviously becoming very emotional over what he was going to say next. 

“Ben, he was just such a good kid. Looking back on it, I really wish I would have done a lot differently. Like, for the time when we were living in the new house. I wish I would have told him I loved him and that I was proud of him.

“I really can’t help but to wonder if any of this, or all of it I guess, is my fault.”


	2. A Sky Full of Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: Violence.  
> Over the summer I had to watch Burn This for a school project. I wasn't able to make it to broadway to see Adam Driver of course, so I had to make do with watching another production on Youtube. There was a question I had to answer as to why Anna would choose Pale over Burton, and I wrote this to kinda personify my paper. It doesn't follow Burn This word for word, but it does take some elements from the play.  
> I actually already posted the story and what I have written to wattpad, so I'll post the last chapter and the little bit of what I have here.  
> Enjoy!

Ch 2

You weren’t sure what time it was, but as you sat there with your arms wrapped around him trying to comfort the sullen man you realized the two of you must have slept for a long, long time. You lay your head on his shoulder as he went on and on about how he should have done more for Kory, about how he should have told her he loved her more often, and about how he regretted every argument he ever had with her. You suddenly felt somewhat selfish in your love for your best friend. You were hurt about her death, sure, but this was her brother. He obviously had been much more affected than you had been. She was his sister, and he had the right to sit here in your home--in your arms--grieving as he was. The two of you had already gone beyond what your relationship was supposed to be originally. You may as well provide him with the comfort he needed. 

His hands caressed your arms as he leaned his head into yours. You figured he faced away from you because he didn’t want you to see him cry. You knew people could be like that sometimes, but you hardly had anything to say. You wanted him to be comfortable, and if hiding himself from you was what he wanted to do then that was okay. You cried just as he did and just enjoyed his presence. Until now, you had been handling your grief alone; and you had your suspicions that he had been as well. In the back of your mind, a hopeful thought bloomed that was so out of this world insane you laughed at yourself there on his shoulder: You two needed each other more than you probably knew you did.

“The hell are you laughing at?” He asked, bringing his arm up and wiping wetness away from his face. He sounded so down and defeated, so lost, and so tired that you didn’t think you could make a joke. 

“Nothing. Just, reminiscing.” You offered the lie as you took a look at the decorative clock on your wall. You were shocked to see that it was a quarter till eleven AM. That meant you and Kylo had slept for almost four hours. In the same bed, touching each other, kissing each other until you woke to his crying. It sort of made you lightheaded to think you had done all this with a complete stranger, but it happened nevertheless. Now all you had to do was help him get up and get Kory’s stuff out of your home. He was a very good bed mate, and when he wasn’t insulting you he was a generally decent person, but you couldn’t have him around forever. Plus you were sure he had commitments back at his house too.

“Can I get you anything?” You offered, leaning back on your knees and looking at him. He craned his neck to look at you, and you saw the redness and swelling in his eyes. 

“No. No I’m fine.” He waved you off of him and you fell away obediantly. You swung your legs over your bed and stood next to it, fluffing your pillows and awkwardly waiting for him to do something--anything. He couldn’t sit in your bed all day. Even though it pained you to say goodbye to Kory’s possessions they still had to go. You couldn’t afford this apartment on your own.

“You sure? No coffee? Tea? Anything?” You urged, and he finally turned around to acknowledge you.

“Yeah, you know what. I’ll take a coffee.” He said, placing his forehead in his hand and leaning over your bed. “I’m tired. And If I’m going to haul this shit off I’m gonna need more energy.” You watched in adoration as he lifted his arms from his sides and stretchd, highlighting the muscles in his back and stirring some conflicting feelings around inside of you. Feelings you probably shouldn’t be having about your late roommates brother. He stood, turned and looked at you as if he were waiting for you to do something for him. When you didn’t respond to him he continued to speak, upity and low tone just as he did when you first met him. “I like it black. Don’t add nothing to it.” Suddenly Kylo had become the man that had stormed into your living room early this morning. You found it easy to shift your feet into gear once he snapped back to the man you weren’t fond of, and at the sound of his footsteps following you a chill ran up your spine. How were you supposed to feel about him right in this moment? 

And more importantly, how were you supposed to feel about him when you had Tim?

Did it count as cheating if you were sure you and Tim wouldn’t be lasting for much longer? After all, he hadn’t said anything to you about Kory’s passing when you last saw him a few days ago. No condolences, no hugs, no kisses, just walking through your door asking for a beer and sex later on that night. It was in his nature, really. He had always been distant and, truthfully, you didn’t know what you saw in him. But while walking down the hall in order to start a pot of coffee for Kylo, you wondered if it was the dopamine released in your brain thinking for you. While you and Kylo were running your hands over each other under the covers, kissing each other anywhere you would allow each other, and singing in pleasure when he would kiss you or feel like just right, it was no secret that Kylo made you feel  _ good.  _ Needed. Wanted. Far better than Tim had been making you feel as of late. But again, was he really what you wanted when he’d be leaving you in a few hours? You poured the coffee grounds into the top of your coffee pot. Perhaps not. You and Tim had been in and out of relationships for years now, and each time you got the courage to end it you’d always come crawling back to him for one reason or another. You would be better off forgetting about Kylo and what you shared with him this morning. Tim didn’t even have to know. 

You leaned against the kitchen counter as your small, unimpressive coffee machine warmed and bubbled in the background. Deciding you wanted to torture yourself emotionally some more this morning, you mosied on over to Kory’s facebook page. You were saddened to see that one of her family members had finally marked her page as  _ remembering _ , indicating her death to anyone that would come by it. It was so surreal, scrolling through her recent posts of people leaving their condolences. Even after all this time, it was hard to believe that she was really gone. Her friends and her family were all in tears, leaving heartfelt messages and some were begging her to come back. You ran your hand over your face as you pushed the tears back yet again. You missed your friend, and you would have done anything to have her back.

“Is the coffee on?” Kylo asked, walking confidently out from your bedroom and adjusting the collar of his dress shirt. 

“Yeah. It’ll be done in a minute.” You called out, refusing to pick your head up from your phone. You knew if you looked up at him you’d seek him out for comfort, and earlier that morning you had decided it wasn’t fair to Tim to be doing such a thing with Kylo. So you decided you’d make him his coffee, and you’d help him load up his car. That would be it for him. You heard him sitting down on the couch and shuffling with his shoes. It was a good sign; you’d be alone soon. 

“I’m feeling a bit hungry, babe.” Kylo says from the living room. You cringe at the word ‘babe.’ Calling you as if the two of you were in a relationship or something. You wanted to say something, but didn’t think it was worth the time or the effort. He’d be gone soon, and you could go back to being your miserable, boring self once again.

“What do you want to eat?” You retorted without leaving the kitchen. 

“I don’t know. What do you have?” You turned to face the fridge, but before you could open it Kylo came waltzing back into your kitchen. He shoved his way past you and opened your fridge. He was pushy, assertive, and authoritative, and yet you couldn’t stop wanting him. He sucked his teeth a few times while nodding his head, then reached into the fridge and pulled out your carton of eggs.

“What are you doing?” You asked, completely lost and unable to say anything else. You watched him pull out the onion you had bought weeks ago as well as a package of bacon, and the block of cheddar cheese you had been meaning to eat from, but never got around to. 

“I think I can work with this.” He said, and with everything being balanced carefully in his hands he moved past you and placed everything on your counter. “Where do you keep your pans? I’m making us breakfast.” He said as he started to rummage through your lower cabinets. 

“Are you sure?” You asked. You really didn’t expect him to do such a thing for you and it only shifted your feelings for him around even more. “I mean, I can make us some eggs while you--”

“That offer for you to iron my coat still good?” He cut you off, pulling out a pan and turning his attention to your upper cabinets. 

“Um, yeah, I guess.”

“Good. Tell me where your spices and seasonings are and go iron my coat.” He shrugged his coat off and held it out to you, to which you simply stared at him. Your kitchen was messy. Dirty dishes sat piled up in the sink that you just didn’t have the energy to wash and things were strewn across the counter. Sympathy cards, money, bills, and other personal objects cluttered your kitchen. It was embarrassing, and it was the last thing you wanted to show him. 

“Kylo, I really can’t let you do this. I promise it’s--”

“Alright, fine. Don’t iron my coat.” He says, tossing it over his shoulder. “But you still gotta tell me where your seasonings are. Because I’m making us breakfast whether you want me to or not.” He says smugly, and when you look at him he’s tossing a careless grin your way. Either way, you knew you had lost this battle before it even started. If it would get him out of your house, you’d allow it.

“Top cabinet on the right, above the stove.” You said, but you had never really been a good cook. The only seasonings you had were basic: Salt, pepper, onion and garlic powder, and perhaps an old vile of paprika somewhere in there. You had never learned to cook, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t embarrassed to have someone rummaging around your small, under equipped kitchen. 

“I can work with this. Can make us some omelets for breakfast.” He said as he turned the closest burner to him on and placed the egg pan atop it. “I have one area of expertise: Food, and drink.” You watch him open all of your drawers until he finds the silverware, and he lifts a spoon and inserts it into the tub of butter you have sitting out on the counter. 

“You like to cook?” You asked, becoming entranced at the sight of him rolling up his sleeves. “Here, I can take this and iron it for you.” You say as you step up to him and pull the coat from his shoulder. He doesn’t look at you, instead he rolls the melting butter around in the pan. Your hand lingers on his muscular arm a little too long, and when you find yourself lusting after him you pull your hand from him. He doesn’t seem to notice, but you’re still conflicted none the less. 

“I don’t really like to cook. Sometimes I’m forced to, and that’s how I learned.” Kylo says; the scent of him travels from his coat up to your nostrils and you’re immediately put at ease. “Sometimes the cooks don’t show up. Sometimes I have to step in, and guess what? People say they can’t tell the difference.” He smiles as he breaks two eggs into a bowl and then scrambles them with a fork, and you can tell he’s proud of himself. “These men and women I hire go to culinary school for  _ years,  _ but here comes dumb fuck Kylo, no kind of schooling or nothing, cooking in their place, and I do just as great as they do. Who needs them?” Kylo says, looking around for just a second before opening your fridge again and pulling out what was left of your carton of milk from last week. “This stuff still good?”

“I don’t know. I can go down the road and grab another carton if you want.” You offered, still hugging his coat close to you. All you had been capable of eating since Kory’s death was oatmeal, cereal, and ramen noodles. Needless to say, your milk was almost gone. He uncapped the jug and took a long whiff, and you were relieved when he pulled his face away and poured half of it into the bowl of eggs. 

“No, it’s fine. I can work with this.” He says softly. It intreagues you that he knows how to cook, and your next question tumbles out without you thinking. 

“Are you a waiter?” You ask, but his response causes your interested smile to fade.

“No I’m not a fucking waiter.” You take a step back, clutching his coat close to you just as you did Kory’s blanket. He still doesn’t look at you as he adds a pinch of salt to the eggs, then pours them into the pan. “I’m the owner. The manager. The boss. Whatever you want to call me.” He says very arrogantly, but you try to pay it no mind. You once again take a step back, ready to disappear into the hallway to iron his coat, but he says something that catches you off guard. 

“I’m sorry, darling.” He says, without turning and looking at you. “I’m sorry I’m so on edge. This whole grief thing. I just don’t take it as well as anyone else should.” Again, he was taking his grief and anger out on you verbally, and that wasn’t at all what you were looking for. With a massive hole in your heart, you turned away from him and into the hallway where you opened the coat closet and pulled out the large ironing board and the iron you had never used. Were you really up to doing this for him? You heard him breaking more eggs in your kitchen and thought it was just an exchange of goods. He was making you breakfast, and in return you would iron his coat. It was easy, and then afterword all you had to do was help him load up his car.

You hadn’t anything before in your life, but you thought you had ironed his coat better than anyone else could have. You had gone over every inch of it several times, taking care to not burn it, and once you were finished there was not a wrinkle in sight. It would seem the two of you were almost perfectly in sync, because as soon as you had unplugged the iron Kylo called out to you from the kitchen.

“It’s done, sweetheart.” He shouts from down the hall. At the pet name  _ sweetheart  _ your heart soars much higher than it did when he called you babe. Was it because he was giving you the positive attention you so desperately needed; attention that Tim just couldn’t give you?

No. Of course not. It was the dopamine in your mind that he set off--nothing more or nothing less. In a few hours this man would be gone from your house with all of Kory’s belongings, never to be seen or heard by you again. It didn’t matter what he called you because tomorrow he wouldn’t be around to call you that anymore. At least, that’s what you tried to tell yourself anyway.

You rounded the corner into the kitchen where you saw the extraordinarily tall man standing over your stove, sliding a long, thick omelette onto one of your plates. You took a step closer, peered around him onto the plate and really took in what you saw. It was the most delicious looking thing you had ever seen come out of your kitchen before. The egg looked fluffy, not dry like the scrambled eggs you had made before. The chunks of bacon and onion were clearly visible in the top layers of your omelette, and the cheese oozing out of the folds on the very front was to die for.

“How’s my coat?” He asked as he dipped his fingers into the silverware drawer and pulled out a fork and placed it on your plate. “You didn’t leave the iron on it too long, did you?” He handed the plate to you with a smirk, and with an amused, hungry grin hung proudly on your face you shook your head and accepted the food from him. “Eat up. We got a lot of stuff to move today.” Kylo says as you walk away into the living room where you and Kory had always eaten. Between the two of you, you never had enough room for a dining table and chairs, so you just made use of the old couch and armchair your parents had gifted you when you moved out. 

You didn’t mind, of course. You dropped down and immediately dug into the omelete that Kylo made for you. The fork met just a bit of resistance when you met a piece of bacon, but once you were able to go through it like it was a fluffy, yellow cloud. The cheese stretched but eventually broke, and when it did you couldn’t get the piece in your mouth fast enough. When it finally touched your tongue, you were certain you had never eaten a more savory and satisfying egg dish before in your life. The crunch from the onion, the saltiness and flavorful bacon, and the egg that practically melted in your mouth along with the cheese was all too good. Was there a catch? Some sort of secret ingredient he used that you weren’t aware of? You took another bite and smiled at your messy plate. It didn’t matter. It was delectable either way.

“Is it good?” Kylo asked as he walked out into the living room, adjusting his coat onto his shoulders. It left you with a good feeling, to know you did something to help this poor, grieving man. In return he made you something wonderful to eat; it was like you were looking out for each other in a way that was far more intimate than what you had done in bed.

“It is, thank you.” You spoke, setting your fork down on the plate. “You’re very talented in the kitchen!” The compliment was genuine, but he didn’t even so much as smile at you in return.

“Thanks for, you know, ironing my coat and everything.” He said quite awkwardly. You could only assume that ‘everything’ meant the near sexual experience in your bedroom, but he was still thanking you nonetheless. It was very thoughtful of him, and it made you appreciate him a little bit more. “I made one for myself but I’m gonna go organize some things in my car first. I think I should be able to get everything gone in one go, I just have to make some room.” He says to you, and for some reason you’re disappointed to hear he’s leaving so soon. You can’t really reason with yourself why. Just ten minutes ago you were convincing yourself you’d be better off without him, but now you were upset. Your expectations were unrealistic; it wasn’t as if he was in love with you. He had his own life and responsibilities to worry about and so did you. It was August, coming up on the end of your Summer term and you had to start getting yourself enrolled in Fall courses if you wanted to graduate in the next two years. There was no room for him in your life, and even if there was you didn’t think you could live with him randomly bursting into insults and ill thought out language due to his grief. 

You watched as he ambled toward the door, fishing for his keys that were in his pocket. He unlocked the door and opened it slowly, seemingly trying to shrink himself down so that he didn’t make a lot of noise on his way out. It was like he didn’t want to be leaving you and was unapologetic about hiding his aprehension. You turned back to your omelette and took another bite without saying anything to him. You would need to get this recipe before he left.

You turned on the TV and absentmindedly flipped through the channels before settling on reruns of Impractical Jokers to occupy your mind for the time being. Kory had always told you that you were over paying for cable and that she would have been perfectly happy with Netflix and Hulu, but you didn’t always listen to her. The two of you hardly ever had time to watch TV anyway, so when the arugment came up you would usually just agree to look into it and call it a day. Perhaps it didn’t matter now. The TV had been there to coddle you and numb you from the pain you were feeling from your best friends death. It didn’t matter if it were Netflix or any of the various shows your cable company provided you. You were content either way.

You sat there chowing down, watching the four met play pranks on the General public and feeling quite full. Not in a physical sense, but felt like what you needed was here. Someone to look out for you for just a moment to help you get you back on your feet emotionally. Even if he was a jerk sometimes, you were still grateful to have known him for just a moment.

Just as you were about to take another bite of your omelette your door flew open, hitting the door stop with such a force that it bent and the door still slammed into the wall. You jumped, nearly dropping what was left of your omlette onto the floor while your eyes darted immediately to the tall, redfaced man that was once again making his way angrily into your apartment.

“My god damn car is gone!” He roared. His fists were balled at his sides and he was visibly upset; shaking and baring his teeth down the hall as if the person that towed his car was standing there and was about to catch his wrath. “Your people up in this fucking apartment complex towed my car!” At that moment your hunger disappeared. You knew he wasn’t blaming you, but his poor choice of words still made you feel at fault. You thought you remembered him telling you about how he took someone’s parking spot when he first arrived, which wasn’t the greatest idea. You had guest vouchers you could have given him, you just weren’t thinking about it at the time when he was yelling at you and then passionately kissing you. 

He once again started spouting off at the mouth, speaking endlessly about how much he hated the city and hated this ‘shitty little apartment complex’ as if his life depended on it. With every word that left his lip you knew he was getting angrier and angrier. You didn’t want to know what would happen if his top completely blew, and your mind traveled back to your thoughts earlier today. You needed each other today. He had helped you, you had helped him, and there was no reason why you couldn’t calm him down. You set your omlette to the side of the couch, and in a not so well thought out act of courage you stood to your feet. You held your breath as you walked straight up to him and in a heart pounding second you lay your hand on his cheeks. He was still so warm, and for good reason obviously. His eyes went from a fixed point on the wall to you and you could see the torture that existed in his soul. He was so angry, so helpless, and you could tell he was about to cry. 

“It’s okay.” You whispered to him amongst his seething, shallow breaths. “It’ll be okay. We can fix it. We can get your car back.” With your eyes locked together you had a front row seat in watching calm take over his rage ridden body. You were chest to chest, could feel his breathing even out as the ridgedness started to fade. Soon he was the same squishy, alluring man that had made you breakfast and had comforted you all morning long.

He blinked his tears away before placing a warm hand on your cheek, rubbing his thumb up to the corner of your mouth and back. You thought it was some strange way of saying thank you, for being the thing that brought him out of an emotional rage. In a way, it was welcome and you found yourself stepping closer to him. His other hand came up around your waist as he held you there against him; where you clearly belonged at the moment. He needed you more than you needed him, it was a fact that no one would be able to convince you otherwise.

“Guess we’re going to be spending more time together than we thought.” He said, his lips just inches away from yours. If he kissed you again you wouldn’t be opposed to it. It wouldn’t change the fact that you were worried about what spending more time with him would mean for you and your sanity.

Ch 3

You sat on the couch listening to Kylo shout at the people on the phone. You had gone out to the towing sign and wrote down the number for him, and while he was on the phone in the kitchen he picked at the omlette he had made for himself. When he wasn’t shouting he was speaking with an inordinate amount of stress in his voice. You tried to cower on the couch, to pay more attention to your show than you did to him. But he was so loud and angry that it was next to impossible.

“God fucking damn it.” He said. You heard the sound of his pants rustling and could only assume that he placed his phone in his pocket. The call was over and you hoped his rage would have ended too. “There was an emergency at the fucking lot. They got robbed at gun point or something and now the entire thing is closed down until tomorrow!” He angrily crossed his arms and huffed at the floor, and you could only imagine the turmoil he was going through. You knew that you would never be able to handle such a catastrophe after going through such a loss. 

“I’m sorry.” You said as you leaned up over the couch and looked at him. He lifted his eyes to you for just a second before turning back to the counter and pushing his plate away from him.

“God, I’ve got such bad luck. First my sister is ripped away from me, then I have to fight my way here and have you stir my emotions all over the god damn place, and now this! Poor, poor Kylo. I can never catch a break!” By now his outbreaks and severe emotional distress had begun to lose effect on you. You had recognized them as his inability to work through the stress and heartache. It still hurt to hear him raise his voice at you, but you knew his woes had nothing to do with you so you tried not to take them to heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The full story can be found [here](https://www.wattpad.com/story/193181044-a-sky-full-of-stars-kylo-ren-x-reader)
> 
> .


	3. Vraiment Désolé

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: Flashing, public nudity.  
> So many people have asked for a sequel for Désolé, and I'm here to say there was one in the works at one point in time! It never got finished as something else grabbed my attention, but this is what I had.   
> I guess I wasn't so sure if I was going in the right direction for this fic or not.

As badly as you wanted to blow the $1,075 “BSKR” had given you on just anything, you decided to take $55 from the bills he had given you to buy yourself a quality new pair of shoes off season from the nearby Nordstrom Rack and use the target gift card to grocery shop for yourself until it ran out. Although, you couldn’t stop from treating yourself to a cute dress that had just gone on clearance at the end of May, but that was it. The rest of the money was used to get ahead of your bills, and it was all gone by the time the summer was over.

Who was BSKR? You had ended up calling him “Berserker” in the quietest corners of your mind. He was just a man. A man that had flashed you now nearly a year ago and a man that you hadn’t seen at all since that fateful evening. Almost every night you replayed the interaction in your head. It was hands down the scariest moment in your life, but five months down the line something within your mind changed. 

It started out with an innocent google search.  _ Why do people flash others?  _ The cursor in the google bar blinked a few times before you frowned and backed out.  _ Why do men flash women?  _ You changed it, then nervously hit the enter button. What populated was quite shocking to you. 

It’s arousing. It’s exhilarating. It gives them power, attention, and control. Your body goes cold as the image of his arousal sticking straight up in front of your face. Did he have control that day? He didn’t have control over you. He didn’t have the power. As badly as you told yourself no, it wasn’t true. There was a time where you wanted to run, but he started speaking to you and you stayed where you were. It was an assault, and he definitely had your attention. It disgusted you so long ago. So why were you feeling so differently now?

Over the next few weeks you did more googling.  _ Psychology of flashing. Exhibitionism. Voyeurism.  _ And every week you learned something new. You couldn’t explain why the topics all of the sudden interested you so much. You read the news stories. You looked at the silly stock photos, and it didn’t take long before you were taking your morbid curiosity to a much deeper level. 

It was the night after Christmas and you were huddled up in your old bedroom at your parents house, just about to fall asleep but keeping yourself awake with your phone in hand as usual. You were scrolling through the same articles you had read over and over again under the google search term  _ public flashing,  _ seeing if there was something new. The first two pages were all the same, but on the third page you found something that piqued your interest entirely. 

_ Stud shows the Entire World What He’s Packing _

It was hosted on everyone’s favorite pornographic website, and your heart skipped a beat. There was no preview, no picture. Just the blue text that indicated you had not clicked on the link yet. You feel your eyes widen as your thumb hangs over the link, almost daring yourself to be brazen enough to click on it. You tossed the idea around in your mind, still so far in denial about how much Berserker had turned your life upside down after your two minute meeting. He had opened up this entirely new world for you, and this was essentially the final step in accepting yourself and what he had turned you into. Your heart beat aggressively in your chest, and soon your morbid curiosity got the better of you. Pornography wasn’t something you delved into very often, but you felt like you had to at least look and see what was going on. You held your breath as you tapped on the link, then watched nervously as your phone loaded into the black and orange webpage. 

The first thing that came up with an incredibly muscular blonde haired man, walking around the beach in nothing but a pair of blue swimming trunks. What followed was obviously scripted, obviously fake reactions by other porn stars as he walked around taking out his enormous penis and stroking it in front of them. They were front and center in their too small bikinis, putting their hands over their faces as their mouths fell into an over exaggerated O, and you were hardly surprised when all of the women ran over at once and began to touch him. 

You closed that window so fast. Everything about that video was so fake and so forced, it almost turned you off entirely. You sighed, put your phone to sleep and set it down on your old nightstand, thoroughly disappointed in yourself. You thought you were crazy, willing to look at flashing porn after a man you didn’t know assaulted you months ago. You didn’t understand your new found obsession, and you thought your parent's house was not the place to be exploring the topic further. You closed your eyes, trying your hardest to push the realization of Berserker’s power that he still held over you out of your mind. 

February rolled around, and you were neck deep in school work despite only taking two classes and being one month into the spring semester. Ever since that fateful night in your parents home you had resisted the urge to look up anything about flashing. You didn’t want to be tempted again and you were still in denial about how you had changed since last May. So you sat at your computer duitifully taking notes about the powerpoints your Art History professor had uploaded, preparing yourself for the first exam of the semester. This had been happening for the last three nights, and your mind was just fried. You were exhausted, and stressed beyond belief. You stared at the screen, reading over one more sentence before you decided that you couldn’t take this anymore. You needed a break, and decided that you’d pick up your studies again tomorrow evening after work. 

You decided to watch a few episodes of a new show you had begun watching a few nights ago, and you cuddled up in bed without a care in the world. Your eyes began to droop sooner rather than later, and you were about to just call it a night when a key character stepped onto the scene wearing something that you hadn’t seen in quite sometime: A trenchcoat.

Visions of Berserker in his trenchcoat once again invaded your mind. His cock. His brazen action. His  _ power.  _ You pressed the heels of your hands into your eyes. You couldn’t believe your evening was heading into this direction.

You found yourself once again at the mercy of google, desperately trying to understand your newfound obsession but instead came to hesitate over a another questionable link.  _ Letting Him Hang Out on the Escalator.  _ It was hosted on a different website this time, and when you clicked on it you were supposed to see that it was more of an amerature made video. 

You saw some brown shoes attached to some black slacks walking around a shiny linoleum floor. The sounds of people walking and talking around you told you he was in a populated, public place. A mall perhaps? You couldn’t tell. You could only watch as he stopped for a moment, began fiddling with his zipper before pulling out his flaccid cock. He stroked it a few times, then this hand disappeared and he stepped onto the escalator. The rest of the video was simply him riding on the escalator with his cock hanging out of his pants, and the entire thing was less than a minute long. This time you were able to watch the whole thing, because it was real. It was short and it was kind of boring, but it was real. 

Is this what Berserker did in his spare time? Did he walk around with his cock hanging out, letting anyone and everyone see what he had? Or did he keep it as wild as he did to you? He did remain true to his word in that he never targeted you again, but this video opened up so many questions. How many times had he walked past you in the park with his cock hanging out and you didn’t notice--if he did that at all? 

You became more and more curious, watching more videos of men flashing their bits under tables, in the backs of busses, in lonely corners of the park, and you just couldn’t believe there were people out here who did things like this. They would show the empty space around them, the people that would walk right on by without noticing or caring. It was daring, and at the end of each and every short clip your mind would travel back to Berserker.  _ You  _ were the most beautiful woman he had ever met.  _ You  _ were the one he wanted to flash.  _ You  _ were special to him. It was that exact moment that your chemistry changed. You could finally admit to yourself that being flashed turned you on.

Fast forward to June. You’re out of school for the summer and you’re just trying to survive. Embracing yourself, loving yourself, and found every once and a while you were on the look out for Berserker. It had been more than a year since you had seen him, and for some reason it excited you to think you’d catch him again. Some days you sat in the park just observing the people walking by, hoping to catch a glimpse of him, his hand stealthily at his crotch rubbing himself so blatantly in public. Waiting for  _ you.  _ Waiting for  _ you  _ to see him.

By the end of June and mid July, after taking regular trips to the park, the library, the starbucks, and countless other places, you had begun to give up the hunt. Maybe Berserker had given up. Maybe he moved. Maybe he got married, had a child, and retired from his life of flashing. It was disappointing, but it was out of your hands. 

You still explored your new kink in the safety and privacy of your home. By this time you had considered yourself to be a full blown voyeur, and you had given up countless orgasms to the many men and women online who flashed their bits in public so descretely. With the possibility of meeting Berserker thrown completely out the window, you began to explore another aspect of the exhibitionist world that you would never have guessed you’d find yourself in. 

Sparked by a story read on your favorite fanfiction website about a man who routinely stood in front of his windows masturbating while looking at the people down below, you suddenly found yourself eyeing your large porch window in your bedroom. You were only on the 5th floor, and your bedroom faced an ally between your building and another. At this time of night no one would walk by, and even during the daytime hours you hardly ever saw anyone. You read back over the line, read about how it was a “shame he lives so many stories up.” No one could see him, and no one would be able to see you either if you exposed yourself. Could you do it? Could you be like Berserker and expose yourself to the public? All this time you had taken solace in being the one who was flashed, but could you take Berserker’s power and place it into your own hands?

You were numb as you rose from your protective blankets, looked only to the floor as you stepped gingerly up to your darkened window and pulled the curtain to the side. It was pitch black, everything below you was covered in shadows and not a person could be seen. The side of the building across from yours had no windows, and you decided this had to be the safest option. Your shaky fingers slowly rose to the buttons of your pajama top, and as the first button came loose you wondered if you were capable of doing this. So many consequences existed. So many risks. Yet, you had so many reasons to explore. You dropped your fingers to the next button, and then the next, and soon your shirt was undone. The only thing stopping you from exposing yourself to the alley was your hands that held your shirt tight to your breasts. You could do this. You wanted a taste of the power, the adrenaline, the attention and control that Berserker inflicted on you that day. You held your breath, you squint your eyes, and in one moment nearly the same rustling noise that alerted you to Berserkers flashing came from your own body. Your breasts were on full display to the empty world around you, and it was one of the most freeing feelings ever. 

You opened your eyes fully, embracing the cool air as your nipples pebbled in front of the glass. You imagined there were people down there, milling about and minding their own business. People that didn’t care to look up and see you standing there stark naked. People that you had power over. You smiled, running your hand over your right breast and allowing your sensitive nipple to graze over your finger. This was perhaps the hottest thing you had ever done in your life time, and you could only wish that the one person who had turned you onto this lifestyle was standing down there as well, looking up at you and basking in pride. You wanted Berserker to see you.

You wanted to flash Berserker. 

By the end of August, things were picking back up for you again. You had kept your exhibitionism to yourself in your home, not really caring if you happened to get up, walk past several windows in your apartment, get to the kitchen and make coffee in front of another window, then back to your bedroom where you would watch the sunrise in front of your porch window in nothing but your bra, or panties, or nothing at all. No action had been taken against you, and you found yourself wanting  _ more.  _ You still wanted to be flashed. You still wanted to be seen, and with each passing day you found you wanted to be reunited with the man that introduced you to this exhilarating lifestyle.

You checked the target weekly during your grocery shopping trips, scouring the mens section each and every time you went. The starbucks he had passed the note to you became your evening study hang out, along with a walk in the park just like how it used to be. Each and every time you showed up to these locations you would have one thing in common: No underwear. You hadn’t ever flashed in public, and you weren’t sure if you had it in you to do so, but it was still arousing to know that it wouldn’t take that much effort to lift up your dress or drop your pants a little in order to flash anyone that would walk by. You couldn’t believe how far you had come in the year since you were just a helpless victim in Berserkers hands, and your patience in looking for him had finally paid off on a hot August evening.

You were sitting on the same bench he had assaulted you on, your knees pressed tightly together in order to avoid flashing the wrong person. You wondered what had happened to your shoe that was left here and were happy to see that the bench had been scrubbed clean. You were in the dress you had bought with his money as you tried to be when actively looking for him, You felt like this evening would be a bust just like every other. You were just about to give up the hunt for good when the sight of a tall man with dark black hair caught your eye. You picked your head up, your heart coming to a screeching halt in your chest as you instantly recognized him. Berserker. He had finally returned to you.

What were you supposed to do now? You didn’t know his name. You didn’t want to jump up and make a scene. What were you supposed to do if he did make it over here, just lift your dress and flash him? He stepped squarely in front of your view, and you lost your voice.

Your mouth fell open as you clutched the hem of your dress in your hands. It was like you were silently screaming for his attention, and it would seem he recognized your pleas. He glanced over at the bench you sat atop of, the one that had brought the two of you together so long ago. Ice ran through your veins as his eyes slowly swept across your bare legs, up your torso until they locked with yours, and it felt like the time around you two completely stopped.

He had stopped walking. You had stopped breathing. He looked exactly the same as how you remembered him, save for the fact that he was missing the trenchcoat he had been wearing that evening. 


	4. Teach Me Rewrite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Content Warnings: Noncon, violence, mentions of underage slavery.  
> I don't understand how my very first fic ended up being my most popular, a close second being its sequel, Reteach Me. I knew so little about writing back then, and I've come so far in the three years since I posted it. For a long time I've been saying I wanted to rewrite it, and sometime last year I finally got around to doing it. It's getting a full face lift, touch up to the grammar and storytelling and all that. The original won't be deleted as it really is amusing to look back and see how much my writing has evolved and changed over the years. Back then I had no aspirations for writing at all, I wasn't in college and had zero writing skill. Teach Me helped me discover that I had a real passion and talent for writing and storytelling, and even though I wasn't the best at it I learned a grew over the next three years. Now I'm a junior in college, on my way to holding a bachelor's degree in English. It really has changed my life, and I feel like it deserves a second chance.

You had what was perhaps the most important role in Petrov’s business that there could be. No, you weren’t being sold. No, you weren’t selling. You were you. It was as simple as that.

Petrov started his whore house on your planet over ten years ago, and you were among the first of the girls that he was able to wrangle up. No parents. No home. No rules. He always told you feral girls were the easiest to take. And take you he did. Back to a rickety old barn where you found two other girls tied up and unable to escape. He was kind enough to remove your restraints and feed you every few hours, but that was about where the kindness ended. You huddled as close to the other two girls as you could, assuring them that you’d all be okay.

But a few days later, you learned that everything was not okay.

The barn doors opened and in came in Petrov and another man that you had never seen before. You only had the light from the outside world to illuminate their slimy faces, and before you could even react to the stranger he had lifted his arm and pointed at your newly made friend Alora. “Her,” He gurgled. “She looks good.” You looked over at her and she cast you a petrified look, reached out to you but before you could grab her Petrov had seized her by the collar of her unwashed shirt and was pulling her away from you. 

“Alora!” You shouted, crawling after her as fast as you could. Glory frantically grasped you by the ankle to hold you back just as Petrov placed his boot against your head to push you back. Glory didn’t want to be alone and you didn’t know who needed you more. In the end, you were defeated. Both men held Alora by the arms and dragged her away from you screaming and kicking, and you were powerless to help her. You held onto Glory as the barn doors shut, leaving the two of you to cry alone in the dark. “It’ll be okay.” You whispered to her as she cried on your shoulder. Of course you had no idea what you were talking about. You were just as lost and alone as she and Alora were.

Alora came back the next day, wobbling through the barn door as Petrov pulled her by her arm. He was laughing like the evil man he was, and when he pushed her back to you and Glory, Alora fell into your arms. “Good, good little girl.” Petrov groaned. “You made me a lot of money last night.” The harsh light shined from behind him and you could just barely make out his crooked teeth as Alora sobbed on your shoulder. You had seen a lot of bad people on this planet, but the combination of Alora’s sobs and his satisfied grin told you that, whatever had happened, it was much worse than what you had seen.

That night Alora told you the stranger had forced her to do such awful things to him. Things that you had zero experience with and things you never wanted to happen to you. Between her sobs, heaving, and vomiting, she told you the story of how her virginity was so brutally stolen from her, and you realized that the three of you were now in more danger than you thought. Alora had made Petrov money by selling her, which meant you had found your way into the sexual slave trade. You held onto Alora tight, promising her that you’d find a way out soon. All of your life you’ve had such bad luck, but you didn’t think you or any of the other two girls could get unluckier than this. 

Each time the barn doors creaked open you could only hope that it was Petrov bringing you food. 75 percent of the time it was food, 20 percent of the time he was with a strange man or woman who would either snatch Alora or Glory from your arms, and five percent of the time he was coming with one or two more girls in tow. In a matter of months his “collection” of girls had grown from three to thirty, and each time there was always one detail that was consistent amongst all 31 of you: you were never chosen by any of people who came to make use of Petrov’s services. Even when he upgraded his housing from a barn to an actual abandoned office building where the girls were two to a room, even when they would run their fingers through your hair, look at your nude body up and down and say you were beautiful, they would always choose another girl instead. By all means, it was a blessing. Not for the other girls that had been forced into prostitution, but for you who had never been touched all your life. 

Part of you felt guilty. Survivor's guilt is what took over your every thought. You didn’t know what made you different. Were you too plain? Were you too good for this kind of lifestyle? Did these men and women pity you more than the other girls? You even felt bad for the small group of girls that came here willingly. They were all doing their fair share for what little food and necessities they were allowed. And there you were, hold up in your room all day writing in your diary and drawing like you had no responsibilities at all. Some of them were happy for you. Some envied you. Most hated you, referred to you as the girl who did nothing all day while they were forced to do the unthinkable. You just kept to yourself, simply waiting for the day your door would be forced opened and you’d be dragged away and you’d become a prostitute.

This all changed one evening when Glory, the girl you were lucky enough to be roomed with, came back to the room with a huge gash on her face. Apparently, after a night with an enraged patron who was adamant on acting out his ferocious fantasies, Glory had sustained a dagger wound to the face. It wasn’t deep but the blood still ran down her cheeks, mixing with her tears and creating a most nauseating smell. She was in so much distress, panicking left and right and you knew you had to do something to help her. As quietly as you could, you ushered her out of your room, down the hall, and into the communal bathroom. 

There, you doctors her wounds as best as you could with the materials you had. Toilet paper, water, and half a bottle of rubbing alcohol that had expired months prior. You cleaned her wound, you applied pressure until it stopped bleeding, and then you tore a part of your own shirt and did your best to tie it around her head. It looked awful, but it was all you could do. You only had so much experience in first aid after your parents dumped you at age ten, and you’d do anything to make sure her cut was taken care of.

“There.” You whispered to her, taking her hands in yours. Her eyes were red and puffy, and she could barely look into your eyes as she shook. You stared at her, desperately wishing she’d tell you that you did a good job, but you realized that her wounds ran deeper than just the cut on her face.

That night you allowed Glory to sleep in bed with you, where she cried on your shoulder all night long. You held her as tight as you could, allowing her to air her grievances, fears, and anxieties until Petrov threw the door open the next morning and delivered you your warm bowl of greying eggs. He took one look at Glory curled up at your side, the two of you barely able to fit in your bed, and rolled his eyes. 

“Eat.” He said, taking Glory by her arm and pulling her toward her own bed. “You’ve got another job in--” He only stopped speaking when he saw the piece of your shirt covering her wound. He took her face in his big, meaty hands and turned it about, and then looked at you suspiciously. “Did you do this?” He asked, but you were far too tired to say anything. He seemed angry at you while his eyes traveled down your shirt until he got to the missing piece you had torn. He turned his entire body to you, his mouth parted and you knew you had it coming. Petrov had cornered you like this on more than one occasion, yelling at you about being a “drain on his resources,” all because no one ever wanted to have you for a night. You prepared to cry, to try and defend yourself as you had a habit of doing, but instead he took you by complete surprise. 

“Come with me.” He said, tossing both bowls onto your bed. He turned back to Glory and once again commanded her to eat before her next session. 

“Where are we going?” You asked him, begging for some kind of mercy. You thought this was it. He was finally making good on his promise to kick you out, onto a planet that you didn’t know anything about. He had said this to you on more than one occasion, that if you didn’t advertise yourself efficiently and gain clients that you’d be on your own. You followed closely after him, only to have him lead you to another room only a few doors down. He refused to speak to you as he opened the door for you, and in the darkness sat Melody, a girl that you hadn’t spent a lot of time with. Her little face lifted to yours, and you saw her face shine from the tears that had been rolling down her cheeks. Melody was among one of the youngest Petrov had, and you thought she deserved it the least.

“There’s something wrong. Fix her. She can’t walk.” Petrov placed his hand upon your shoulder and shoved you into the room and closed the door behind him, leaving you only able to see her with the rising sun behind her.

“Hi, Melody,” You said nervously. She didn’t say anything to you, instead lifted her foot from the blanket and pointed it at you. It was clear what the problem was; her foot was nearly glowing white with streaks of blood running down her sole and heel. Some of it was fresh and liquid, while other streaks were dried and crusted. She was injured, and Petrov had hand delivered you here to come help her. 

You stepped up next to her bed and sat at her foot gently reaching for her ankle but she drew it away. She whimpered, shut her eyes as she drew her foot away. “Hurts.” She moaned, turning to tears once again. You grimaced at her. This wasn’t going to be easy.

“Could you tell me what happened?” You asked as softly as you could, observing her and growing quite sick as you realized she was much younger than you originally thought. 12? 13? The youngest you had ever seen Petrov capture was 17, and yet here was a 13 or so year old girl sitting here in front of you. It made you ill, and you wished you could swap places with her any day. 

“There was glass in the bathroom, and I didn’t see it.” She said between her sobs. She sounded like she thought she was guilty, like it was something she was going to get in trouble for. You assumed if she couldn’t walk Petrov would have given her a hard time, and you knew that a lot of these things got into little girl’s heads. 


	5. Saint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Content Warnings: child abuse  
> The day Disney Plus was launched I found out they had my favorite version of Annie. I watched it so many times and was inspired to write an Annie AU. The character, Saint, won't be underage in this fic, turns 18 before any fun stuff happens on the Ren-Warbucks estate lol. I stopped writing this to write Finding Freedom instead. This is the entire first chapter.

Everyone has parents. Everyone has a biological mother and father that got together one day to make a child. Some people have good parents that would do anything for their precious little ones. Some people have mediocre parents that fuck around, don’t pay attention to their children. Some people have one parent, and even no parents. Whether it was from death, abandonment, abuse, or any combination of the three, it happens. It happens more than anyone is willing to admit, and it happened to you. 

They called you Saint. Your parents, whoever they were/are, left you on the stoop of the girl’s orphanage 17 years ago and never came back. That’s how you ended up with no parents. All you knew was Miss Hanagan and the other orphan girls. And it was a rotten, hard knock life. 

Not enough food. Not enough clothes. Not enough heat in the winter and cool in the summer. Not enough love. Not enough of anything for you and the nine other girls you grew up with. On more than one occasion you had to split your already too small meals with one of the younger girls who you felt didn’t get enough food. You were also known to share your bed with those little girls that got scared in the night, calling out for their  _ mommies,  _ as if their  _ mommies  _ would show up out of the blue and take care of them. You hated it. You were bitter and you would always call them “annoying” when you had to do these things. You guessed why that’s why they called you Saint, and you did your best to live up to the nickname even though you were bitter.

Your parents left you with a note, declaring their love for their newborn daughter that was  _ perfect in every way. _ It said you  _ never cried,  _ you _ never whined,  _ and your parents knew you’d grow up to do  _ great things.  _ But it would seem the only other people that believed in that were your orphan sisters, the ones that you didn’t get into fights over on a regular basis. The younger ones that would cry on your shoulder when their bellies would grow sore in hunger, or the ones that would ask you to braid their hair up the only way you knew how. If being great meant being a mother to the six girls that depended on you, then you were great. But you hated being great.

The first time you ran away was at age six by throwing yourself from the third story window after being made to scrub the entire bedroom floor with a toothbrush. You had been caught sneaking macaroni into a small, doll sized teacup to feed to Sicily, the newest orphan who was only four, and Miss Hanagan made your sisters laugh and throw wet washcloths at you as you scrubbed. You could tell Jordan, the one that had bullied you since the beginning, enjoyed it the most. It was only after punching her in the mouth while she slept that you threw yourself from the window, and when you hit the ground your leg snapped into two.

Even still, you took off running. Down the New York City roads as fast as you could in your light, flimsy nightgown. The pain from your broken leg hurt, but the pain of knowing it was either get away or continue to suffer was worse. You didn’t get very far before a citizen who had witnessed the entire thing picked you up and carried you to the hospital where your leg was set and Miss Hanagan was called. You cried the entire time, begging them not to let her take you back, but when she showed up she showed up with tears in her eyes. “Oh, my little Sainty,” She cried. “I was so worried about you!” She took your face in her hands and kissed your forehead. The doctors and nurses stood by and smiled as they felt it was an emotional reunitement, but to you it was a nightmare. Eventually you were released with a set of crutches and cast, taken back to the orphanage where the girls stared at your casted leg in awe. Jordan, who you would later learn was the catalyst of you being caught, snickered, and Miss Hanagan made an example out of you.

“Saint here, decided she no longer wanted to live here, with our tight-kit, loving family.” She started out, shoving you into your flimsy, sunken in mattress. “And you know how she paid her price? She broke her leg! Racking up a hospital bill so large that you wouldn’t even be able to wrap your small minds around.” You started to cry as all of the other girls looked at you with fear in their eyes. “So you know what that means for the rest of you?”

“No, Miss Hanagan.” They all said in perfect sync. 

“That means, in order to pay me back for this chunk of change  _ I  _ now owe to the hospital, nobody eats for  _ a week and a half!” _ There was a collective gasp around you, and then Miss Hanagan turned and walked out of the room. She mumbled something about how the State didn’t pay her enough to take care of you  _ brats, _ and you had never felt more unwanted in your life. 

“Thanks a lot, Saint.” Jordan mumbled under her breath, slinking back to her bed and “accidentally” tripping over your casted leg. Some of the older girls casted you dirty looks as well, but one of the youngest, Vivian, ran straight up to you and hugged you as hard as she could. 

“I’m glad you lived, Saint.” She whispered in your ear. “Even if I don’t get to eat, at least I have you back.” She smiled, showing off her missing front tooth. You had never felt more loved in your life. 

You continued to run away all throughout your years as a ward of the state, successfully making it from New York City all the way to Georgia on a freight train with some other drifters at age 17. You kept yourself safe with a knife that you had stolen from a man that was unpacking newspapers. You were living happy with a group of homeless people under a bridge, at least until you were caught breaking and entering into an abandoned office building for some shelter from the rain. Hanagan had reported you missing, and when you were booked your were positively identified as one of her missing girls. You were hauled off in the custody of the Toccoa city police department and returned to Hanagans stoop, where you were snatched up by your collar and dragged all the way up to the attic where you were made to live for the next three months of your life. 

It was cold and lonely. Hanagan somehow got her hands on a pair of police grade handcuffs and cuffed you to an exposed pipe in the wall so you couldn’t go anywhere. The entire three months you had only seen your sisters when they carried your much smaller plate of food up to you once a day, and each and every time they looked terrified of you. “Miss Hanagan told me I can’t talk to you.” The youngest would whisper. The older ones wouldn’t say anything at all. It was heart breaking, and you only found out why two days into your sentence.

“You all wanna end up like Saint?” You heard Hanagan scream out from below you. You jumped when the hatch to the attic suddenly jumped up as if it was being hit by something below it. “Running away, ungrateful for what I’ve provided for you? Because this is what you’re going to get!” You heard the girls in succession moan ‘Yes Miss Hanagan,’ and you rolled your eyes. You were trying your best to pretend like being up here in isolation wasn’t bothering you. Scowling and mumbling to yourself about how much you hated Hanagan, and about how you were going to kick her ass and leave for good when you got out of these cuffs. But on the inside, it was much different.

This was the only life you had known. Seventeen years of empty bellies, borderline physical and verbal abuse, and definite emotional abuse until you felt like you didn’t feel anything but torment. Seventeen years of looking at nine other girls that were in the same situation as you and only wishing the best for them. Seventeen years of learning to hate yourself and everything around you. This had been the final straw. You lost your perseverance when you heard the girls nervously chanting below you,  _ Saint is a bad person!  _ It was quiet at first, they all sounded unsure of themselves until you heard the crack of a broom handle against the wooden floors. It was a fear tactic Hanagan often used that especially scared the younger kids but it stopped working on you and the older girls a while ago. 

“I said  _ louder!”  _ She bellowed above the girls voices, and they followed suit almost immediately. 

“ _ Saint is a bad person!”  _ They yelled as loud as they could. The tears started to form in your eyes. This wasn’t anything new. Hanagan had been making you feel like a bad person all of your life. But to hear your sisters chanting it, under Hanagan’s abusive spell like cult memebers, was different. To them, you weren’t a bad person. You were their savior. Their mother. The one person that actually gave a damn about them. And there they were. Calling you a bad person like they believed it. With your one arm unable to move more than a foot you covered your entire face with one hand and finally gave into your tears. Seventeen years of pent up stress and hatred finally making its way out in the form of anguish filled tears. This was the first time you had been truly alone in seventeen years, and you were breaking down like there would be no tomorrow. You deserved it. You were angry. Angry at Hanagan, at your sisters, at yourself and, especially, at your parents. How could they have left an infant in such conditions? How could they have just abandoned you? Subjecting you to seventeen full years of nothing but negativity that you were certain you’d never overcome. You cried. You writhed. Your body wracked with woe. You couldn’t believe that you had been dealt this hand of cards in life. It hardly seemed fair. 

You continued to cry over the involuntary chants of your sisters, but it all so suddenly stopped and soon you were left with just the sounds of your misery. “Saint is going to be stuck up there until she turns 18 next month. Then she’s on her own!” Hanagan shouted, her voice laced with pure hatred to you. The third time you had been reported as a run away the board of orphans had made a visit and threatened to shut the orphanage down if anything like this happened again. Ever since then Hanagan had dragged you back to the orphanage herself, but you assumed you had gone too far for her this time which is why she contacted the police. The board had probably threatened her again after this run, and if you ran away again she would be in big, big trouble. 

“Say your goodbyes while you can, because the day she turns 18, none of you will ever see her again!” The girls moaned ‘yes miss Hanagan’ in unison, and then you heard the telltale sign of little feet scattering away from Hanagan's loud, obnoxious footsteps. You were alone, and you had a chance to fully remember that your birthday was next month.

December 10th, 1933 was the day you were born, and December 10th 1951 is when you would finally become an adult. Your skin went cold as you thought about what that would mean. No longer would you be in Hanagan’s clutches, no longer would you have someone watching you over your shoulder, breathing down your neck and abusing you every second of the day. You would be free, have to fend for yourself like you did in Georgia. It almost felt like bliss, at least until you realized that being forced out of the orphanage would also mean you’d have to leave your sisters here. They would be alone, have no one to fight for them and be their voice against Hanagan as you were. Jordan sure wasn’t going to do it, Jordan cared about nothing but herself just as Hanagan did. It’s no wonder she often gave Jordan more food, gave her better clothes and cleaner sheets. You hated Jordan, and you wondered what she would do to your other sisters after you left.

Now everything was quiet. You had spent so much time running away and had never thought about what this place would be like without you. As badly as you tried to look at it as a good thing, as if you were being released from prison, you found yourself sulking about it. If only you could take even just the youngest child with you, you would be happy. But no. Hanagan wanted you gone and she didn’t care what would happen to you--or your sisters-- afterword. Once again, you placed your hand over your head and cried. No matter what happened in your life, it felt like you would never win.

Each day Hanagan would cycle through your sisters every day to bring you your food. All of the younger ones would hug you and cry, asking you if you were really going away and if you would ever come back. Your heart broke over and over again each time you had to tell them their worst fears, that once Hanagan gave you the boot you’d never come back. Each day crawled by, and each day you got closer to your birthday you wished you could just run away, to leave on your own terms to avoid the heartbreak that would come on the 10th. Scisly, who was now 12, hugged you and refused to let you go, resulting in Hanagan having to come up and rip her from your neck. While she was there she reminded you that there were only two more weeks before you were gone, and you could tell she couldn’t wait. It was the worst feeling to be so hated, but little did you know things were about to change, and change so suddenly.

Over the next few days the girls came up less and less, and at one point Hanagan was the only one delivering your meals. She would hardly even come up, simply poking her head up from the door and sliding your food across the floor to you. But today, a day before the first of December, was different. 

“Saint!” She yelled, startling you from a rather uncomfortable sleep up against the wall of the attic. You lifted your head and rubbed your eyes, allowing them to adjust to Hanagan who was squeezing her large body through the attic door and advancing toward you. “Got news for you, kid.” She announced with an annoyed huff. Once she had finally made it to your immobile body and pulled a piece of paper out from her dress pocket and threw it into her lap. You went through a range of emotions, one being terror as you thought she was kicking you out early to diluted excitement when you thought someone was finally going to adopt you just a week or so before your 18th birthday. 

“Is, is someone going to adopt me?” You asked as you picked up the paper and unfolded it. Your hopes were higher than they probably should have been and, of course, it didn’t take long for Hanagan to kill your excitement before it got too far.

“No, no one’s adopting you.” She sneered, placing her hands on her hips and scowling at you. “You’re too old to be adopted, read the damn paper.” You braced yourself as her harsh words penetrated your hardened exterior. You tried not to let it bother you, instead turning your attention to the paper in your hand:

_ To the Lucky Recipient of this Letter, _

_ On behalf of Ren and Warbucks enterprises, we’d like to congratulate you on being the lucky child who will spend the entire month of December in CEO Kylo Ren’s mansion! We offer you this experience in the hopes of providing child who is less fortunate the Christmas experience of their dreams. There will be dances, parties, lavish food and clothing provided for you. We do hope that you’ll accept and spend the holidays with us at the Ren estate! _

_ Sincerely,  _

_ Grace Farrel, Assistant to CEO Kylo Ren. _

“Is this another one of your cruel jokes?” You asked, tears brimming in your eyes once again. This sounded like the deal of a lifetime, a deal that not only you would kill and die for, but anyone of your sisters would and certainly any other orphan out there. Hanagan snorted, and your homes almost immediately dashed. The letter wasn’t for you. She was just showing off an opportunity you couldn’t have, one that she was probably giving to Jordan while she was planning on how she could humilate you when she kicked you out. 

“No, it’s for you,” She said quite matter of factly, and you took another look down at the pretty, seemingly handwritten letter in your hands. “You weren’t my first choice, but all of the other brats came down with pneumonia. You were spared, so you’ll have to do.” Clearly Hanagan regretted having to give the letter to you of all of her oprhans, but in a split second she didn’t matter. 

Kylo Ren was the youngest CEO of all of New York City. He was also the youngest man to earn a billion dollars in one year, and he was putting in all this hard work almost by himself. His father bought the business from a man called Warbucks, and Kylo was manning it all by himself. It was admirable for sure, and to spend an entire month in the Ren estate, being cared for by maids and living like a millionaire, was the deal of a lifetime. You felt your heartbeat rise to an unimaginable level. You would have much preferred that one of your younger sisters to go and have a ball, but obviously if they were all bedridden with pneumonia that wasn’t a possibility. You wouldn’t put it past Hanagan to punish them by leaving all of the windows in their bedroom open, thus infecting all of them with the deadly illness at one time. By all means, you felt horrible for them, but after spending weeks in the attic chained to a pipe all by yourself, you felt like the freedom you were being awarded was perfect. The fact that Hanagan was angry about it was like revenge to you, and you couldn’t wait to show her how happy you would be. 

“What do you say to me, since I’m  _ allowing  _ you to go on this little vacation?” She asked, leaning forward and smiling slyly at you. This was an intimidation tactic she had been using ever since you could remember.

“Thank you, Miss Hanagan.” You said as enthusiastically as you could while still being held here against your will.

“And what else?” She pried deeper, and this time you could hold back the rolling of your eyes.

“I  _ love  _ you, Miss Hanagan.” You groaned, and took solace in her clearly faked smile.

“Good, good, little orphan girl,” She chided, turning around and beginning her ascent out of the attic. Your heart grew heavy when she turned around. You thought you’d be leaving right away, but evidently not. Hanagan was going to punish you for making it to Georgia for as long as she could, even if that meant torturing you up until the last second in her custody. “You deserve it, Sainty. You really do. Especially since you won’t be in my custody when you return to the harsh reality.” In a matter of seconds your face dropped into a frown. You hadn’t even thought about how you were going to turn 18 during your stay. Come January when you really did have to go back to reality, you’d be homeless. To literally go from rags, to riches, and then back to rags was a horrifying thought, but there truly wasn’t anything you could do about it now. All you could do was enjoy your month as a rich person, celebrate your birthday, and worry about January when the time came. It was like a goodbye party for your torterous childhood, and you were determined to enjoy it as much as you could. 

“Consider it the one and only Christmas present Miss Hanagan will ever give you, girl. They’re taking you tomorrow.” She said, once again squeezing herself into the door and shutting it behind her. When she was gone you huffed to yourself, cursing her under your breath. Hanagan didn’t matter. You would be free from her soon, and wouldn’t have to worry about what she was going to do to you. Instead, you worried about what she’d tell your sisters. You worried about how they would cope without you, what they would think of you and how they’d remember you. It was still so depressing, but you had to look on the brighter side. Even if it were just for one month, you were going to live as lavishly as you could. You had to be grateful, even for just this one moment in your life. 

The sun would come out tomorrow. It was only a day away. 


	6. Enigma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No content warnings apply  
> Last but not least, Enigma. I'm still actively working on this story as it is among one of my most unique storylines. This is all that I have for the next chapter.

You sat and patiently waited for the girl you had met in the halls, your stomach still growling as a cruel reminder of your carelessness that morning. It had been nearly an hour since you sat down and you still hadn’t seen her, and you were sure you were starving. Lunch wasn’t for another two hours, and your deliveries would have to be made one more time for their lunch before yours. You didn’t think you could handle delivering food while this hungry, so you were desperately counting on your friend to show up and make good on her promise of giving you food. 

It did give you some time to focus on all of these flashbacks you’ve been having. Two of them were related, and one of them was when you were a child. Part of you couldn’t believe that you were, what seemed to be, a soldier. You really only knew yourself right now, and you were a soft and quiet girl. Yet your memories told you that you took on deformed monsters, side by side with people in large metal suits. It was admirable, and you couldn’t help but to wonder what had happened between now and then. How did you lose your memory, and how did you end up within the Order if you had such a good reputation in whatever military you fought in? There were no answers, only these empty memories that seemed to hit you at the most random of times. If only you had control. If only you could look deeper. Then maybe you’d understand yourself a little bit more.

The door to the break room opened and brought you from your eerie thoughts, and wouldn’t you know it was your friend. She slipped just her body through the door and then leaned against it, her face breaking into a particularly pleased smile that you found to be infectious. “Oh, my, god.” She said in a near whisper, and you couldn’t stop your own smile from blooming with hers. “I just got back from Supreme Leader Ren’s quarters and, oh my god!” She exclaimed, growing quite giddy. 

“See, he wasn’t scary.” You said, leaning your head into your palm. 

“No, he wasn’t scary, but he was, I don’t know!” She said, falling into a giggle and walking over to you. “He made my blood flow, he made me nervous! I mean, he was nice, but have you heard about him? It was like being in the same room as a leashed rabid animal!” You rolled your eyes at her even though what she was saying suddenly made sense to you after your confrontation with Ren. 

“He’s always been nice to me.” You said, struggling to give up the information that you had wanted to tell her in the first place. “I guess, until just recently.” The girl cocked an eyebrow at you as she reached into a small bag and produced two wrapped pastries, placing one in front of you and beginning to unwrap the other. She stared at you, waiting for you to go on with your story but you were momentarily distracted by the strangely shaped food that she placed in front of you. It looked to have been baked in a cup, and was a soft brown color with deep blue markings within it. “What is this?” You asked, and when you looked up she was smiling across the table from you.

“You really are a shell, aren’t you?” She asked, taking a bite into her pastry. “It’s a muffin. We baked them this morning and they’re about to throw the extras away. Snagged them for us since you said you missed breakfast.” A  _ muffin.  _ You had no idea what that was, but it sure looked tasty. You lifted the pastry to your mouth and took a big bite, immediately becoming satisfied by the sweet taste and soft texture in your mouth. “So what did he do to you?” She probed, rubbing her hands together to clear them of the crumbs. With your mouth still full of the muffin you shook your head, not really knowing where to begin. 

“I don’t know. He kinda, threatened me.” You said, wiping the corners of your mouth free from the crumbs. The girl snorted at you, looking down to her muffin. Part of you was embarrassed and enraged at her reaction, but as you’ve found yourself doing many times now, you stood down. You shrank in your chair and simply looked on at her laughing at you.

“I’ve heard that he can do far worse than that, girl. If all he did was threaten you, you got lucky!” You awkwardly smiled at her, covering the bottom of your muffin with both of your hands and trying to think of a rebuttal, but instead she continued to speak. “They say he kills people when he gets angry, that he throws these horrifying tantrums when he loses control. Slashes the walls and circutry, and if you get in his way he can kill you with one flick of his finger.” To drive the point home she snapped her fingers and you blinked. You couldn’t believe that any of that was true. 

“Webbie, the guy that works in the bakery with me said he once saw The Supreme Leader pick a man up with the Force, choke him, then stick him to the ceiling for the rest of the ship to see. You don’t want to make him angry, so I would watch your back.” She squint her eyes at you, playfully trying to scare you but you found a shiver running up your spine anyway. 

“The Force?” You asked her, only to once again shrink away as a more animated laugh fell from her mouth. 

“Oh, come on,” She exclaimed, scooting her chair closer to the table. “You can’t be that much of a shell to not know what the Force is.” You stared at her blankly, shaking your head at her loud personality.

“I guess I’m so much of a shell that I don’t even know what ‘shell’ means either.” 

“Oh man,” She sighed, shaking her head at you. “You’ve got a lot to learn, I guess.” 

You listened intently as she explained everything she could to you. Apparently the word “shell” was a nickname for people like you, fresh out of “reconditioning,” that couldn’t recall the majority of their memories. She said she was considered to be somewhat of a shell as she couldn’t even remember her own name, but unlike you, she knew what the miscellaneous items around her were. You, on the other hand, were a true shell. You knew nothing. Nothing about yourself or anything around you. You didn’t know what ice cream was, or muffins, or coffee, or the “Force,” which was apparently well known by everyone. Currently the only member of the Order that possessed the Force was, indeed, Supreme Leader Ren, and according to your friend he could use it to do anything from eating to killing people to sexual things you didn’t want to know about. You had so many questions, but in a split second the girl, whose nickname you had learned to be “Grace” based off of her alphanumeric name “GREC-8745,” was once again going on and on about the Supreme Leader.

“But he was incredibly nice to me. All he wanted was for me to put the jelly down on the table and take his dirty dishes. He left shortly after I got there, said he had an emergency. He didn’t even try to kill me!” You stared at her, once again smiling awkwardly at her.

“See, I told you he’s not that bad.” You laughed, shoving the remainder of your muffin into your mouth shortly afterword. 

“I suppose you’re right.” Grace smiled at you, gathering up her crumbs in the discarded muffin wrap and balling it in her hand. “He’s pretty good looking too. I’ve never actually seen him without his helmet before.” You snorted, looking down at your own empty muffin wrap and laughing uninhibitedly at her bold statement. That was quite the conclusion to jump to. “Anyway, I’ve got to get back to the kitchen to get started on lunch and dinner’s desserts. It was really good talking to you outside of work, er…” She trailed off as you happily looked up at her, basking in the glow of having what you would consider to be a friend. “What was your name again?” Oh, right. You had never told her your given name.

“They call me PIPA-0401.” You assured her, and she nodded at you, looking to the ceiling for a moment.

“Pipa, I like that.” Once again, she flashed her perfect teeth at you and you felt so drawn to her. Like someone finally understood you and you weren’t so alone in this vast world you knew absolutely nothing about. “Well, I’ll see you at lunch time, Pip.” She said cheerfully, and you gave her a small wave before she simply disappeared back into the kitchen. You sat and smiled to yourself as you recalled your fond time with your newfound friend. She only had so much power within the Order, yet she made you feel so safe and not alone.

Over the next few weeks things seemed to turn up. You fell into a routine that you found was fairly easy to keep. You learned the ins and outs of the hallways you always took, and when it came to General Hux you learned what to do to keep him happy too. You had to be quick as he often criticized your “slothfulness” as he called it. You couldn’t look at him for too long or he’d lecture you on staring. He required his table to be set the same way for each meal: The fork on top of his napkin on the left side of his plate, his spoon and knife on the right side of the plate, his drink above the spoon and his bowl of soup--if he ordered one--was to be next to the spoon. You were not to speak unless he spoke to you, and, above all else, you were absolutely not allowed to touch anything. You learned the last point when you accidentally bumped into his decorative table in his dining room that housed several expensive looking plates and cutlery. He became livid, slamming his fists on the table and roaring at you to leave at once. You were so terrified that you ran, and nearly forgot your cart on the way out.

You and Grace became fast friends. She was housed on the same floor as you, just in the A hallway instead of B, and she had the exact same meal blocks as you did. You found that you gravitated more toward her than anyone else, especially since the only other person that seemed to treat you like a human being was The Supreme Leader. She’d sneak you little pieces of bread, spare cupcakes, and slices of cake that were going to be thrown away between your deliveries, and when it was time to go back home she’d walk with you. Most of the time the two of you would hang out in your room doing whatever by yourselves, watching movies, drawing pictures, eating left over food from the kitchen. Grace always seemed to enjoy your home more since she had two other assigned roommates. She even spent the night on more than one occasion, sleeping on the floor in front of your bed. As the two of you grew more comfortable with one another you invited her to cram herself into your small bed with you. It wasn’t ideal, but being that close to her was somewhat comforting in and of itself.

Some nights Grace would drag her mattress across the halls to your room and spend multiple nights with you. She claimed her roommates didn’t care and she would always drag it back before inspection night. The two of you had become inseparable within a matter of weeks, and you found you could even confide in her when your bizzare flashbacks would hit you. 

It started one morning when Grace asked you a simple question: “Who is Haylen?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's every wip that I have actively being worked on right now! Be sure to leave a comment telling me what you think. I'm always open to ideas about what to write next.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not really sure what other tags I should add since these are all wips lol.


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